Alan Russell - Burning Man

It wasn’t exactly Marley’s ghost rattling his chains and talking to me, but the image of my body degenerating spoke to my doubts. Could it be possible that Homicide Special wasn’t right for me? My subconscious, or whatever it was, seemed to be telling me that. It must be nerves, I tried to tell myself. Homicide Special was what any LA cop wanted. It was the top of the detective food chain. Besides, lots of people had dreams where they were naked, and even though my moment after wasn’t quite a dream, it was close enough.

I tried to tell myself that there might have been some other reason I was naked in my vision, but the more I tried to convince myself of that, the more strongly I began to feel that taking the position in Homicide Special wouldn’t be good for me. Doubting Thomas had seen his own wounds and they weren’t pretty. Still, it was too late to be reconsidering the job. I had made my appointment with the chief to press him for this placement. That’s why Sirius and I were now waiting in the antechamber of the chief’s office. There was no fallback position I had in mind, no other job in the department that interested me. When you are prepared to ask for a boon, you better know what it is you want.

I ran my hand along my partner’s head and neck. He was no longer part of the equation. Sirius’s injuries precluded him from returning to K-9 work. That added to the emptiness I felt, but I hadn’t brought him along just to feel nostalgic. Sirius was there as a reminder to the chief of what we had both given and what we were both owed. Besides, it was likely the chief remembered my partner more than he did me. The two of them had made the cover of Time magazine with their memorable handshake. There had also been a shot of me on the inside of the magazine, but the picture they’d selected made me look as if I should have been wearing the white mask of the Phantom.

Sirius and I sat waiting outside of the tenth floor suites at the Office of the Chief of Police (OCP). Two large desks manned by officers barred entry into that space. This wasn’t my first time in LA’s Police Administration Building (PAB), but I’d never been to the OCP. The new ten-floor limestone building had cost the citizens of LA almost half a billion dollars. The architectural firm designing the building had tried to construct it in such a way as to allow a sense of openness between PAB and the city hall building. Spatially at least, that seemed to have been achieved. PAB was part of the new LA skyline; city hall was to the south, the LATimes building to the west, the Caltrans edifice to the east, and the Cathedral of Saint Vibiana to the southeast. The view from the tenth floor was so impressive you didn’t even notice the smog.

After a twenty-minute wait a smiling administrative assistant, definitely a civilian, came out from the inner sanctum.

“Good morning, Officers ,” she said, showing a lot of white teeth beautifully set off by her mocha skin. “I’m Gwen and I’ll be showing you to Chief Ehrlich’s office.”

“Don’t blow it,” I whispered to Sirius, but I was really talking to myself. My dog doesn’t need a muzzle; my tongue does.

As we walked behind her, I reminded myself to be the old Michael Gideon, the one I’d studied on videotapes. I had practiced for this role; in another lifetime I’d even lived it.

The LAPD is the fifth largest law enforcement agency in the country. To put that in perspective, the FBI is the fourth largest. There are almost ten thousand officers serving the city of Los Angeles, not to mention three thousand civilians, including Gwen. You don’t just walk in off the street to see the chief. Most LA cops retire never having had a personal audience with the chief.

Gwen motioned us into an office, and Chief Ehrlich came out from behind his desk to greet us. “Officer Gideon,” he said, shaking my hand. “And my four-legged friend Sirius,” he added, bending down and offering his hand. This time Sirius only sniffed at it, and a bit suspiciously at that. It was probably the “four-legged friend” comment.

“Please sit,” Ehrlich said.

The chair I planted myself in would have been acceptable to royalty. Ehrlich took a seat behind his desk, crossed his hands and smiled for us. He was good about making eye contact and didn’t seem distracted by the scarring on my face.

“I am glad to see you are both doing so well,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

He knew why I was there, but was still going to make me ask. No one doubted the chief’s smarts, but he was only eighteen months into his job and the rank and file hadn’t yet made up their minds about him. Ehrlich had come from outside the ranks of the LAPD. Because he had a number of eclectic interests and degrees in subjects other than law enforcement, the media liked to refer to him as a Renaissance man. His nickname was “the Professor.” His proponents said the nickname referred to his time teaching at Columbia University; his critics said it reflected Ehrlich’s tendency to lecture and be pedantic.

“The last time we talked was last April at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel, sir,” I said. “On that occasion you said that when I was ready to come back to the force, you would see to a placement of my choosing.”

The chief offered the barest nod. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I might not have even seen it.

“The doctors have cleared me to come back,” I said. “Unfortunately for Sirius, his injuries are such that he is no longer fit for K-9 duty, and he is now officially retired. Without him as a partner, I don’t want to return to Metropolitan K-9.”

I took a deep breath and tried to forget the view into myself that I’d experienced that morning. The vision that came after my fire dream wasn’t infallible, or at least I didn’t want to think so.

“What I’d like to be is a detective,” I said, “with a placement in Robbery-Homicide Division. I want Homicide Special.”

Ehrlich twisted his fingers into steeples and took a few moments before answering. “If you get your wish, have you considered the ramifications?”

Only seventy-six detectives are attached to Homicide Special. Because those detectives work on all the high-profile cases, it’s a job everyone wants. “I know it will ruffle feathers.”

“It will do more than that. There’s going to be a lot of talk about how the fix was in. Experienced detectives that have been waiting for placement on Homicide Special are sure to raise a stink. It’s unlikely anyone at RHD will greet you with open arms.”

“I can live without the hugs,” I said. “I paid for the position with my pound of flesh.”

“I won’t argue with that, but walking into a hornet’s nest doesn’t sound like the best way to start off in a job.”

“Is that your way of telling me it’s not going to happen?”

“If you’re set on Homicide Special, then I’ll start the ball rolling. I think there is a better option for you, though, a position that I believe is suited to your skills, needs, and desires.”

“Vice?” I asked. My self-imposed muzzle hadn’t lasted very long.

Ehrlich chuckled, or at least made the attempt, and then asked, “Why did you go into K-9?”

“I like dogs.”

“From what I understand you like autonomy even more than you like dogs.”

If he thought I was going to argue, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Before taking this meeting, I put in some calls to people that know you.”

I tried to look surprised, but the truth is that I had heard from several people the chief had talked with. The chief had told them to keep it on the QT. I knew that because that same phrase was used by a few of my sources, even if I wasn’t exactly sure what the QT was.

“Everyone said you were bright,” Ehrlich said, “perhaps to a fault. They said you were impatient, and that you use caustic humor as a defense mechanism. Is that about right?”